clever for you. So au revoir, Jacob Pratt, until
after lunch."

They came again after lunch, redolent of food and drink and tobacco.

"What about a cold chicken and a pint of Mumm, eh?" Montague suggested
through the bars.

"Go to hell!" Jacob, who had forgotten his early breakfast and liked
his meals regularly, retorted.

They indulged in a few other pleasantries, which Jacob cut short with
an abrupt question.

"How long is this tomfoolery going on?" he demanded. "What's the end
of it all going to be?"

Montague, with his unpleasant, leering face, was pushed away from
behind the grating. Hartwell took his place.

"You're going to be paid out for that upper cut you gave me, for one
thing," he announced. "We're going to wait until you're tamed, and
then you're going to be thrashed within an inch of your life. After
that, there's a little estate of the Marquis's round here you might
like to buy. We've got the agreement all drawn out."

"And after that," Montague shouted, "God knows what will happen to
you!"...

The afternoon wore on. Towards five o'clock, Jacob, who was sitting in
a corner, holding his head, was conscious of a strange sound from
seawards. He hurried over to the other window. In a little dinghy,
tossed like a cork by the heavy swell, he could see Lady Mary, in an
exceedingly becoming bathing dress, trying to balance herself with an
oar against the side of the precipitous cliff.

"Are you in there?" she called out.

"Hullo!" Jacob answered. "I should think I was!"

She leaned down and picked up a sea-fishing rod. Jacob was terrified
as he saw her swaying backwards and forwards.

"Be careful!" he shouted.

"I'm all right," she assured him. "If I get a ducking, don't be
afraid. I'm out for a swim, anyway. If I can cast inside the opening
there, can you reach it?"

"If it's anything to eat, I will," he promised.

"Here goes, then!"

At the fifth or sixth attempt, a package, wrapped in oilskins, landed
inside the aperture. Jacob, lifting himself from the floor, reached it
at once, undid the fastening, and sent the line clear.

"Don't go away," she cried. "There's whisky coming."

"Angel!" he shouted.

"May take me some time," she called back. "I've had to take out a
joint of the rod to carry the weight."

At the third attempt, a couple of flasks, tied together, came
clattering into the aperture. Jacob pounced upon them with joy.

"There's some water there," she told him. "Throw al